


You Promised

by Dani_Chameleon



Series: Newsies Works [8]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Canon Era, Character Death, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dani_Chameleon/pseuds/Dani_Chameleon
Summary: Spot Conlon doesn't break promises
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Newsies Works [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702264
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	You Promised

**Author's Note:**

> I cried a bunch.
> 
> I wrote this in an hour and a half and it's barely edited- I have my first day of work tomorrow I should be asleep but I desire to kill characters.
> 
> I don't write in third pov much I hope I did it right
> 
> Enjoy~

Spot wishes he could say he’d taken Race’s death well, responding in the way you see in the books and newspapes, he wished that he’d cried quietly at the sad excuse for a funeral before saying all of the nice, inspirational things. It hadn’t been anything like that. 

It had been punching the brick wall of the lodging house over and over again, refusing to eat because fuck all. It had been screaming and shouting at everything and nothing at all. It had been watching the color drain from the world over the matter of a day, breaking open already-split knuckles against whatever else you could find, only being stopped because Jack Kelly pulled you away. It had been sitting with him on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, saying absolutely nothing at all but seeing his arm ready to grab you just incase you decided to give in, slipping over the edge. It had been avoiding Sheepshead at all costs because no I don’t want to go collect his bet money- just take this and give it to the people he owes. It was denial, it wasn’t money he owed, it was money he owes, because you were only temporarily covering the cost, because Race was going to waltz into Brooklyn like he had four years ago, like he owned the fucking place, he was going to walk in here and pay his debt himself, then he was going to go and visit you because he was not laying six feet under the dirt in a sad excuse for a grave. 

So no- it wasn’t your perfect response to death, but who is to say what’s perfect?

It had been a somewhat peaceful death, better than some of the other boys had fared. At least, that’s what he said. But who could believe Race? He would have- no- he would say- he isn’t gone- he would say anything to comfort the littles, make them believe he was okay. He never answered Spot honestly, always avoiding the ‘are you hurting?’s and ‘are you okay?’s, disregarding them with a joke of some sort. Spot had spent every last second by his side, for two weeks he stayed in Manhattan and, after when Jack Kelly had walked in on Spot’s tear stained face, pressing a tender kiss to Race’s knuckles, he didn’t say another word about how long Spot spent there. 

Race was out of it for most of the time he was awake, speaking anything that had come to his mind. 

“Spot- that you?” He murmured, 

“Yeah, yeah you alright, Racer?” Spot answered, hoping his voice was steady enough that Racetrack wouldn’t suspect the hours of crying that were so painfully obvious. 

“You know this is it for me, right?” He’d said slowly. Spot felt his heart split. 

“Hey… hey, don’t say that, darling…” Spot whispered, 

“Okay… I just- I need you to know…” He swallowed. “I don’t know what’s after this, Spot. I’m scared- I’m real scared. You don’t tell that to nobody- not a soul. None ‘o the little need to know I’m scared- a’right?” Another short pause, “I really, really hope, whatever there is after this, we get another shot. We get another chance, somewhere better. All o’ us, Jack n’ Davey, Blink n’ Mush… all the newsies, we get another shot.” He looked over towards Spot, tears visible in his eyes. “But I hope we get another shot, Spottie. I hope we get a chance, somewhere better where I don’t have to worry about someone seein’ me kiss you, where I can hold your hand and walk down the street, all the good stuff.” Tears flowed over, “Cause you and me? We didn’t get near enough time, Spottie. I’d spend forever with you, forever, mi amore. We’ll get more time- somewhere better. You just have to tell me that’s what it’ll be, because that’s the only way I won’t be so scared. Tell me I’ll see you again.” Spot stared a moment, running his thumbs over Race’s knuckles reassuringly.

“I promise you, Racetrack Higgins, I ain’t done with you yet.” He’d said with a sad chuckle and a grin from Race. Spot leaned down, meeting Race’s lips as he struggled to sit up. 

“Spot- you can’t-”

“Nobody’s in here, Racer.”

“I won’t let you get sick, Spot, I won’t be the one that kills you.” Race’s eyebrows furrowed. Spot nodded sadly. 

“I’ll follow your wishes, Racer.” Spot whispered. They sat quietly for a few minutes, unsure of what to say. 

“Hey… Spot?” Race whispered.

“Yes?” Spot said, a bit eager to hear his voice again.

“I uh-” Race chewed his lip, “I know we ain’t been… whatever we been for long… I tried- I tried to save up a little bit of money, right? I- I know we’s both boys- ain’t near adults…” He took in a slow, shaky breath. “I was hopin’, maybe we’d be together- I knew it was you, it’d always be you but… but then I got sick…” Another slow breath. “Maybe in this second life, when things are better, I can kiss you out infront of Sheapsheads and we both got more money… maybe I could’ve followed through…” Race whispered. 

“Followed through with what, Racer?” Race looked away,

“Proposin’.” Spot sat there, eyes widening quickly.

They were two boys- two boys couldn’t get married. They were only eighteen, too. Race was gonna be eighteen in a week- he’d make it til’ then, and nineteen, all the say to fifty and further. 

“You were gonna..?”

“I- I had it set up… I figured I would get maybe a whole dollar from my birthday? I’d finally be able to get somethin’ small… a little band or somethin’... I didn’t even know what you’d say- we’ve had… something goin’ for three years… I knew it was you, Spot. I- I didn’t wanna tell you before but… this happened.” He gave a sad chuckle. Spot didn’t know what he was saying until he was. 

“Yes,” He whispered breathlessly, “Race… yes, I would have said yes.” He swallowed shakily, “Race- I’ll say yes right now.” Race put his other hand over Spot’s,

“I want you to take the money, alright? I want you to use it to take care of the littles here- split it with Jack, take care o’ Brooklyn with it, okay? Or- or use it when you find yourself someone knew, buy them a pretty ring…” The rest faded out,

Someone else?

There would never be someone else for Spot Conlon. 

“You there, Spottie?” He nodded, “You can do somethin’ good here, Spottie. I know you can.” He whispered, shaking a bit as he kissed Spot’s hand. “I love you, Spot Conlon. I know there will be someone else for you, but you were the one for me- first time I saw ya’. Remember? When you walked into sheepshead, mad as a bull, ready to kick me outta there? Then I won you over with my charm?” Race teased. 

That’s what put Spot over the edge. 

He smiled, his lip wobbling as tears rolled down his cheeks, his body shaking. 

“Hey- hey, darling… c’mere, you’re alright- I didn’t mean to-”

“Race… I don’t want you to go… it ain’t fair- you’s too young… it ain’t fair…” Spot sobbed,

“Hey… I’m here now, aren’t I?” He whispered, pulling away from the embrace for a moment. He looked around half frantically before tearing a small strip of fabric from his tattered shirt, taking Spot’s hand and tying it into a small knot. “There you go-” He paused, taking it off quickly. He sat up a little bit, almost falling as he stood up out of bed,

“Race you can’t-” Race waved him off, sinking down to one knee. 

“So- uh-” He paused, “I had a little thing planned, but it don’t matter none now. I love you, Spot. Would you do the honor of, in another life, bein’ my one and only?” Spot nodded, watching through tears as Race slipped the fabric over his finger, kissing his hand and examining it. “We’s married, now?” 

Engaged, Spot wanted to correct, 

“We’re married now.” Spot helped Race back onto the bed, “Could I kiss you? I mean- we’s married.”

“You gotta make sure you go use that mouthwash stuff afterwards that Davey keeps insistin’ we use- brush your teeth and take medicine right away if you ain’t feelin’ good.” Race rambled, 

“Sure- anything,” He cupped Race’s cheek before meeting in the middle, it was a sweet, slow kiss. Time seemed to stop and it was just each other, just the two of them and nothing else. They pulled away after a moment, needing air. Race spoke first, barely a whisper.

“Spot Conlon, my husband.” He said, “Ain’t I the luckiest man?” Spot shook his head,

“No- no that would be me,” He smiled, “Cause my husband is beautiful, talented and sweet- his name’s Racetrack Higgins- we actually recently got married-” Race started giggling and Spot continued his sentence, just glad to keep him happy. 

Racetrack Higgins was dead the next morning. 

People started crying all around Spot, he just stood there, staring at the blue strip of fabric on his left hand. Jack looked over at him, tears streaming down his face. He’d taken Spot to Race’s bunk, 

“He’d want you to go through, y’know? He’d want you to have done it.” He’d whispered, only grabbing a sketch from under the bunk, one of Race. “You’ll be okay?” Jack asked,

“How do I…” Spot looked up at Jack. “How does it go back to normal after this? Race was… Race was the one thing I was proud to call mine- now he’s gone. He wasn’t just mine- he was by my side no matter what… he was- he was incredible and- and he was sweet…” Spot stopped talking, unable to continue. 

“I know I ain’t him- none of us ever will be- but we’s here for you.” He whispered. Spot nodded. 

He’d found a pack of cards, a few cigars and a pile of money. A whole fifty dollars.

Race must’ve been saving since he’d met Spot.

Spot gave the cigars to Skittery- Spot had never smoked in his life. He pocketed the cards and split the money with Jack, knowing he would never find someone the same as Race. 

Spot Conlon sat on his front porch, telling the entire thing to his granddaughter, after adopting one of the kids at thirty. He got lucky- lived up until this point, now eighty-nine. He left out the part that Race was scared, keeping his promise that he wouldn’t tell a soul.

“Would he have liked me, papa?” She asked.

“Yes- yeah, he would have.” Spot smiles, looking down at the worn, blue piece of fabric tied in a tight knot around his finger. 

Spot Conlon died at ninety years old, about a week before Race would have been eighty-nine. Only his grandaughter knew the reason he was buried next to an unmarked, hastily put-together cross just outside of New York, and she walked up, sticking an old pack of cards inside the casket. She got confused glances, but only gave them a sad smile and it was left alone. Spot Conlon died at ninety years old, it was their seventy-third anniversary when Spot Conlon met Racetrack Higgins again. 

Not many coherent sentences were said, just a sweet, long embrace until Spot pulled back to look around. They were sitting in old New York, running through the streets like they’d done when they were young, but what surprised Spot was when Race leaned down and kissed him in front of Sheepsheads. Spot kissed back, longing after decades to taste Race again. Race pulled back,

“I told ya’ I’d kiss you out here.” Race whispered, Spot had missed his voice so much.

“I remember,” Spot whispered. Race took a small step back, getting down on one knee. 

“I- I know it’s been a while and all… and technically I already did this but…” Race pulled a velvet box out of his pocket, it was the most perfect ring Spot had ever seen. Spot glanced down at the fabric, 

“I- I love it- but- I kinda like this one… y’know?” He tried to show Race, but panicked when the fabric was gone. Race took his hand, Spot looked down at the ring. Instead of a stone, it was the rolled-up fabric, encased in some kind of clear something. Spot smiled wide, a tear rolling down his cheeks, “Incase you couldn’t tell, it was a yes.” Spot said. Race stood up,

“I’ve waited… seventy three years to do that, Spottie, mi amore.” 

“Where… are we?” Spot asked slowly,

“We’re somewhere better. Everyone else is here, too. You’ll see ‘em soon. We can kiss wherever we want- we can be married and nobody can say anything. We can have as much time together as we want, darling.” 

“We… we made it?”

“Of course we did- I made you promise me we would, and Spot Conlon ain’t one to break a promise..”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I thrive off of Kudos and Comments!
> 
> Kinda based around the song Promise Me by Badflower..? (they're so good- the normal version of the song or the acoustic are beautiful)
> 
> I kind of want to write something longer based on the idea of reincarnation..?
> 
> QOTD: Do you like Major Character Death stuff?
> 
> My answer: Yes- it breaks my heart, but I'm a sucker for it.
> 
> Have a fantastic day and stay safe!


End file.
